Letter to My Eldest Daughter


“… there are hardworking, brave, crazy, passionate blood-women pulsing in that exposed heart of yours and you took in their guts and soul with your mother’s milk.”

By Sarah Bessey

Blog: www.emergingmummy.com | Twitter: @sarahbessey

Dearest Anne, my full of grace girl:

It seems sometimes like you were born without a rib cage around your heart–you are so tender, so wide open, so innocent and welcoming that I can hardly bear it. You love so quickly and easily without thought of looks or creed, economics or appropriateness, borders or demarcations. Your default setting is trust, forgiveness offered before asked.

So, I want to be your rib cage, to protect your heart from bruises or breakage but the truth is that your heart is strong and wide for its very exposure. And you are so brave in your innocence, I learn from you. You made me a mother, small girl, and now my own ribs are cracked wide and through loving you, I am reacquainted with my own thumping too-tender self, and I am discovering a wide family of global sisterhood.

I claim my corner of your life and half of your blood, for the teaching of the big nouns and verbs of love and peace, justice and mercy, faith and laughter, servanthood and courage, along with the sacredness of work and beauty through the small daily life we live together now. There isn’t much drudgery in laundry and dishes anymore. I have found God in these small tasks because, together, we are learning. Nor do I find despair in working for freedom, equality, mercy and justice in our own family ways, because together we are learning hope and making space for God.

You see, you remind me a lot of myself. You may look like your Dad, but in your heart of hearts, you carry my temperament and personality. Sometimes that thrills me. Other times, it terrifies me. Because I simply want to tip over and pour everything of my own self out for you; I want you to know NOW what took me 33 years to learn about myself.

And knowing that you take after me in the good ways and in the let’s-be-honest-I’m-a-wreck-sometimes ways, I feel like I could write a book of rules and wisdom hard earned. Stupid things like, hey, don’t dye your hair black (trust me–it never washes out) and also, Charlie perfume makes a really poor cover-up for the smell of cigarette smoke. I know we’ll get to those ridiculous stories of my life, the ones that make you laugh at me. But I’ll also tell you my other stories about how I fell in love with your dad and what I think love looks like; how I love you and your brother and Evelynn, deep into my marrow, where my bones are alive.

I’ll trace the line of time backwards for you until you see the women that came before you in a great cloud of witnesses for your life. Not to burden you, small pixie, but to empower you.

After all, there are hardworking, brave, crazy, passionate blood-women pulsing in that exposed heart of yours and you took in their guts and soul with your mother’s milk.

We are thumping along with you, out here in the world now, reminding you that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. And you have a voice and a reason for being. You have a future and a hope. Know who you are, small girl, and when you forget, we’ll remind you. You are already a girl after God’s own heart, your ears are tuned to the Holy Spirit’s frequency and you comb the air like a spider. You’re paying attention.

Be a woman who loves.

How am I so blessed as to raise you up into womanhood? Your own story, yes, all yours, will be a beautiful thing to see unfold and I’m privileged for my front-row seat. You have helped me see every other mother in the world with walls-crumbling-down eyes. Every little girl could have your face, and now it’s not enough just to raise you well to a suburb with a mini-van to go to church on Sunday and pay your taxes. I am learning the counter-cultural in my own life and sowing it with prayer into yours. A life that tells a story of love, because every girl could be you, every mama could be me and every woman could be us, so we speak up, we pray, we sow our seed in hope and faith.

One morning, when you were four, we sat together and you asked me if I remembered when you were a baby and how we used to make each other laugh. I think you must have been looking at old pictures of that (but who knows? maybe you do remember?).

And I said, Yes, yes, I do remember.

And you said, We loved each other right from the start, didn’t we?

Yes, yes we did.

Love, Mummy


Editor’s note: Sarah first wrote this post on International Women’s Day 2011. It gripped my heart then and has been one of my favourite pieces of Sarah’s ever since. This week, I made an exception with this post and asked Sarah if we could repost it from emergingmummy.com. I wanted our SheLoves readers to also have an opportunity to enter into this story, so it may be part of our collective memory as a sisterhood. –idelette xo


About Sarah:

Sarah Styles Bessey lives in Abbotsford, BC with her husband and three tinies. She’s a happy clappy Jesus-lover, advocate for Mercy Ministries of Canada, blogger, writer and simple living/social justice wannabe. She blogs at www.emergingmummy.com and tweets from @sarahbessey.

Sarah Bessey

Sarah Bessey

Sarah Bessey is the author of Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith and Jesus Feminist. She is an award-winning blogger and writer who lives in Abbotsford, British Columbia with her husband and their four tinies. You can find her online at SarahBessey.com or on Twitter at @sarahbessey.
Sarah Bessey

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